Beneath the Radar

By Patrick M. Sheridan

Kevin Sullivan, Chief Executive Officer of Chicago National Bank, discovers a series of unusual activities at the bank, which he suspects is money laundering. He reports his findings to the Chicago office of the FBI and begins to work with Karen Robbins, one of their most experienced agents in financial crimes. Robbins, a computer expert, follows the money trail from Chicago National Bank through the Cayman Islands to accounts in London, Zurich, and Riyadh.

John Andrews, a Chicago businessman, suddenly throws Chicago National into turmoil with a hostile takeover attempt of the bank. As personal pressure closes in on Andrews, he significantly raises the price of his tender offer. Research into Andrews background leads Sullivan to suspect that Andrews might have a violent and criminal history.

Robbins traces the source of the money laundering to Chicagos Russian Mafia. Her investigation of the money trail in Europe and the Middle East catches the attention of The FBI Counterterrorism unit in Washington, D.C. and they begin to take an active interest in the case.

Against this background, threats have been set into motion which will enable people with deeply rooted hatreds to finally turn those hatreds into revenge. Robbins must find and stop the Mafia boss who left Russia years ago before these threats are realized. With very little time left before disaster strikes, powerful government forces in Washington, London, and Moscow work together to assist Robbins.

Unexpected help comes from an old scientist in Vienna who has waited for sixty years to find a way to repay America and its allies for releasing him from Mauthausen concentration camp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2006
• ISBN: 9781467806138

Patrick M. Sheridan

Emailed separately NOTE TO AUTHORHOUSE As you did with my other hardcover books, please put the author biography on the inside flap of the back cover so that the back cover contains only my photograph. Thank You

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Sprinkled throughout the Middle East are light skinned, fair-haired people who look more like natives of London or Paris than Damascus or Beirut. But they belong there. They were born there. And they can trace their family history back for dozens of generations. In fact, they can trace their Middle Eastern heritage back over 900 years, for they are the descendants of the Crusaders.

One such Muslim was William Warwick, whose ancestors had taken the name of Warwick, the town in Central England where they came from. William the Conqueror had built a castle in Warwickshire in 1086. Eleven years later, Robert, Duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror, led the First Crusade from England. William Warwick’s ancestors came with him. The crusade took them to that part of Antioch that is now called Lebanon.

When the crusades were over, many of the crusaders just stayed in the Middle East rather than spend the rest of their lives walking back to England. Over the centuries, some of their descendants eventually went back to England, and some moved to neighboring countries. Warwick’s ancestors had moved from Lebanon to Mesopotamia in the 16th century, settling in the city of Baghdad.

Some remained Christians, while others became Muslims. Warwick’s family had been Muslim for as many generations as anyone could remember. He was completely integrated into the culture of Baghdad. Except for his name and his fair skin, he was as much a citizen of Baghdad as anyone else who lived there.

Warwick wanted to forget about his English ancestors, but as a child, his classmates in Baghdad taunted him for having a funny name and fair skin. By the time he was a teenager, he interpreted every slight as an insult against his English ancestry. His family had been in Baghdad for over 400 years and he was still treated as an outsider. He could not bring himself to blame his own people, so he began to develop a deep hatred for the English.

Warwick was very close to his grandfather. Everyone in Baghdad knew about the British invasion of Baghdad in 1917 and the famous quote of the British Commander.

The British had invaded Mesopotamia, and ended 400 years of Ottoman rule. Lieutenant General Sir Frederick Stanley Maude, the British Commander pronounced that We come as liberators, not as conquerors, a phrase which would become infamous throughout the country for decades to follow. William’s grandfather not only knew the quote, he had actually heard it firsthand. His grandfather was only six years old at the time. He stood near his home in Baghdad in March 1917 holding the hand of his father as the British army marched past and was in the crowd when Maude gave his famous speech.

The discussion his grandfather had that day with his father had been told hundreds of times, over the years, to William. William, have I ever told you about the time the British invaded Baghdad when I was a little boy?

Yes, grandfather, but please tell me again.

His grandfather smiled and said, I asked my father who they were.

He said, They are invaders and infidels. They do not belong here. They are imperialists who only want to control our oil. They will never leave.

Why are we cheering and waving at them?

So they won’t kill us. They came into our land killing people with guns and cannons and we don’t want to be killed by them.

I don’t like them, Father.

I don’t like them either, said William’s grandfather. They are not here to liberate anyone. They only want to replace the Ottomans. We’ve been liberated by Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, The British, the Ottomans, and now the British again. I think Genghis Khan at least had the decency to laugh when he said he was liberating us, to let us know that he knew that he was full of shit.

William’s grandfather always laughed at the little joke. William had not understood it when he was a boy, but he loved it when he finally understood it. His grandfather continued, My father said the British had already liberated us during their crusades 1,000 years ago. It may take decades or centuries to get rid of them again, but do you know what will happen after they leave?

No, Father.

They will come back some day. They will return shooting and killing us and then they will tell us they are liberating us again. Never trust anyone who invades your country, kills your countrymen, and tells you he is there to liberate you. Never trust the British. You must learn to hate them.

Yes, Father, William’s grandfather had said.

The irony had been lost on both William Warwick and his grandfather that their hatred of all invaders rightfully should have included their own ancestors. But they never associated themselves with the crusaders from England. They only thought of themselves as true Baghdad Muslims.

That conversation, like all conversations with six year-olds, would have quickly faded from the memory of Warwick’s grandfather had it not been for the fact that his father reminded him of it almost every day for decades. The conversation always started the same way. Do you remember the day we watched the British army come to Baghdad?

Yes, Father.

Are they still in Baghdad?

Yes, Father.

How long have they been here?

Many years, Father.

You must hate the infidels.

I do, Father.

Warwick’s great-grandfather had been right about the British. They didn’t leave. The League of Nations granted them a mandate to run Mesopotamia. Some international legal body always seems to grant legitimacy to countries that conquer and occupy other nations. The mandate ended in 1927, the country was divided, and Iraq was created. Iraq was granted full independence in 1932 and the oil rights were transferred to The Iraqi Petroleum Company. Few Iraqi citizens in 1932 realized that The Iraqi Petroleum Company was not an Iraqi company at all, as the name implied. It was a British Corporation.

William Warwick’s own father had grown tired of the story. He didn’t hate anybody, not even the British. He remained a Muslim, but felt more pity than hatred for the British infidels who were too stupid to believe in Allah. When William Warwick’s grandfather died, his father moved to London, taking William, then 16 years old, with him.

William said goodbye to his Uncle Robert who had believed every word his father had said about the British.

Goodbye, William. Don’t forget what your grandfather taught us. The British are infidels. Never trust them.

But Uncle Robert, I am going to live in Britain. All my friends will be British. Everyone I know will be British.

All the more reason you must be very careful and never trust them.

When I become British, will you stop trusting me?

You’ll never be British, William. I don’t care what your passport will say. The British are Christians and infidels. You are a Muslim and your heart is Iraqi.

But the British aren’t in Iraq now. Why do they bother you so much?

They will come back to conquer us again. That is what they do. That is what they have been doing for 1,000 years. That is why you must hate them, but never let them know you hate them. This is very important. You must always speak and act like all the other people in Britain. Then they will trust you as one of their own. Never let anyone in Britain know about your hatred of them.

I will, Uncle Robert. Like his grandfather, his Uncle Robert had an answer for everything. William and his uncle had always been very close. He thought both his grandfather and his Uncle Robert could not be wrong.

Uncle Robert, do you know that my father does not agree with your views on the British?

Yes, I know. We must pray for him.

How do you know you are correct and he is not?

Allah knows. And someday, your father will know also. We must pray to Allah to help your father see the truth. The British are taking your father away from his own mother, your grandmother. She has been crying for a week because you are going to London.

I’m sorry. I will pray to Allah to help my father see the truth.

Because he came to England with a determination to hate the British, William interpreted every slight as an attack on his ethnicity. He remained a devout Muslim in private. On occasion, he attended church services at St. Paul’s Cathedral to keep up his appearances as a true Englishman. William never discussed his real feelings about the British with anyone, not even his father. William grew to hate the British even more than either his grandfather or his Uncle Robert ever did. He saw the British firsthand every day and magnified their shortcomings and ignored their strengths. William never again returned to Baghdad, but he regularly wrote to his Uncle Robert and his three cousins.

In 1991, the American president, George Bush, announced that American soldiers were on their way to Kuwait to liberate it from Iraq. William thought of the story he had heard so many times. If the Americans were liberating Kuwait, it meant that Kuwait would never get rid of them. Most of the bombing and the killing did not even take place in Kuwait. It took place in Iraq. One night a bomb landed on the home of William Warwick’s Uncle Robert and killed him, his wife, and their three children. William never knew whether it was a British or an American bomb since they both were flying sorties over Iraq, but he vowed that some day he would avenge their deaths.

Their deaths virtually destroyed William’s father. He had felt guilty about leaving Baghdad all those years ago. He even managed to blame himself for their deaths. It ruined his health. He lost his job and William’s mother left him. In three years he was on his deathbed and sent for William. Thank you for coming. The doctors say I won’t last the weekend.

Is there anything I can do for you?

William, do you remember the story your grandfather used to tell you about the British coming to Baghdad, and how they were infidels and you must hate them because they would come back again?

William sat on a seat beside the bed. Yes, I do.

Did you believe him?

Yes, Father. I always did.

Your grandfather was right, and they did come back and bomb Iraq.

Don’t worry about that now father. The British fooled a lot of people.

If I had stayed, maybe my brother Robert might have been with us during the bombing. My lack of faith caused the death of my only brother and his entire family.

William tried to comfort his father. You are a good Muslim. Allah knows that. You didn’t cause anyone’s death. A bomb killed Uncle Robert and his family, probably an American bomb, since they dropped most of the bombs.

William, will you swear an oath to me?

Yes, Father, anything you ask.

Will you swear before Allah to avenge my brother’s death against the British and the Americans?

William stood and kissed his father on the forehead and smiled. I swear before Allah that the blood of many British and American citizens will pay for the murder of Uncle Robert and his family.

His father hugged William for the last time and said, Be careful my son. Allah will give you a sign when the time is right so that your Jihad will be successful. You must be patient. No matter how many years you have to wait, you must wait for that sign from Allah.

I will, Father.

His father died that evening.

CHAPTER ONE

The ball had drifted foul toward the left field stands. Moises Alou, the Cubs left fielder raced to the wall for what looked like an easy out. As Alou reached over the wall to make the catch, a young fan seated in the first row, wearing a Cubs baseball hat and thick glasses, stuck his glove up to catch the ball, knocking Alou’s glove aside. Neither of them caught it. Alou tossed his glove to the ground in disgust. All 45,000 fans at the game screamed in outrage.

Despite the fact that the Cubs still led the Florida Marlins 3-0 in the 8th inning, and led the 2003 National League Championship Series 3 games to 2, every fan in Wrigley Field knew immediately that the jinx would continue and the Cubs would lose the game and the series.

Kevin Sullivan had been a Chicago Cubs fan all of his life. Like all Cubs fans, he had never seen them win a World Series. They hadn’t won the World Series since 1908. The Cubs hadn’t even played in a World Series since 1945.

Thousands of fans threw beer and screamed insults at the fan as he was escorted out of the stadium, surrounded by security officers. Kevin Sullivan, sitting in his box seat behind first base, felt sorry for the fan. Kevin was glad he was not sitting where that fan was. He knew that if he looked up at a ball coming right at him, he would have tried to catch it also.

For Chicago Cub fans, opening day at Wrigley Field was the best day of the year, more exciting than Christmas, New Years, or the 4th of July. Ever since coming so close in 2003, every Cub fan was convinced that each following year the Cubs would finally win the World Series. The fan, the loss, the outrage were almost forgotten every spring, as all Cub fans are eternal optimists.

Kevin Sullivan was surrounded by screaming fans at the opening game. He was in his box seat when his cell phone rang. As he put down his beer and reached for the phone in his pocket, he thought about the fact that an outdoor sporting event was one of the few places left in the world where your phone could ring without pissing off everybody around you. Of course, there was a good chance you wouldn’t hear a thing the other party was saying, but life tends to balance things out. He didn’t like getting a call during the game but, after all, it was the middle of the afternoon, and he was the president of the bank.

Kevin Sullivan. He almost always answered the phone by simply saying his name. He meant to say hello but rarely remembered.

Hi, Kevin. Can you hear me?

His secretary always called him by his first name except when outsiders were around.

Yeah, Brenda. What’s up?

John Andrews called. He’s President of Great Lakes Mutual Life Insurance Company. He sounded like he knows you.

I’ve met him a couple of times at civic and charitable events.

He wants to have lunch with you tomorrow. He says it’s important. You have the Chicago Chamber of Commerce luncheon on your calendar.

Okay, I’ll have lunch with him. Give me the details in the morning. See if Bob can fill in for me at the Chamber luncheon. Move other things around if you have to but don’t cancel my meeting with the internal auditors.

Bob Martin was the chief financial officer at the bank and Kevin’s right hand man. When Kevin traveled, he usually left Bob in charge and Bob often represented the bank in meetings that Kevin could not attend.

Will do. How’s the game going? asked Brenda.

Great. The Cubs lead 3 to 1. This could definitely be our year.

The only thing Kevin Sullivan enjoyed more than following the Chicago Cubs was business, and particularly banking. He liked everything about banking.

Kevin had lived in the Chicago area his entire life except for two years in Vietnam. He grew up in the western suburb of Oak Park, attended Fenwick High School, and played basketball there. He commuted to Northwestern University in the northern suburb of Evanston, which took over an hour in traffic each way, but still managed to graduate in the top quarter of his class with a major in finance.

He served in the U. S. Army during the Vietnam War and was honorably discharged with several medals, including The Bronze Star with V for Valor and The Purple Heart with Oak Leaf Cluster. He was very proud of the fact that he had volunteered to serve in the army, but he never talked about the Vietnam War, and no one at the bank ever knew that he had won those medals.

Kevin spent his entire business career in the city of Chicago with the Chicago National Bank, joining the bank immediately after returning from Vietnam. He started out in the mortgage department, working directly with customers. He then worked in the trust department for a few years. The rest of his career had been spent in finance and investments, eventually leading to his promotion to controller. When Kevin was promoted to chief financial officer, he was the youngest CFO Chicago National Bank had ever promoted to that position.

As American business had become more mobile during the last quarter of the 20th century, it became increasingly rare to find a chief executive officer of a major American company who had spent his or her entire career with that one company. In the 21st century, an increasing number of corporations used executive search firms to find outside talent when senior executive positions opened up.

During the years Kevin served as chief financial officer, Lloyd Russell was chief executive officer at the bank. Russell was an old school CEO, and he believed that one of his primary responsibilities was to develop executives from within the bank. When he retired as CEO in 1995, he recommended that the board of directors elect Kevin to replace him, which they did. He had been the CEO ever since.

Kevin looked like a bank president. At 55 years old, he had gray hair, was 6’1", and always dressed to impress. He wore only white shirts and dark suits to the bank. He laughed when he was first told that he was old school himself, but it was true. He was still very physically fit, having kept in shape by playing competitive basketball until he was in his early forties, then his knees told him it was time to graduate to the swimming pool.

He had been married for twenty years. His wife Cindy had died of cancer in 1997. He never married again. In fact, he hadn’t even dated anyone since his wife died. By any standard, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Chicago. That meant nothing to him. He believed he could never again find anyone he could love as much as he had Cindy and doubted that he could ever find anyone that would love him as much or make him as happy as she had. He had no interest in trying to find out. Over the years, he had accepted that view as a fact, became a confirmed bachelor and learned to enjoy being single.

He had two children, a son Ryan, who now lived in Denver, and a daughter Kelly, who lived in Washington D.C. They were both married. Each had two children. They all had a standing invitation to fly to Chicago at his expense any time they wanted to. In addition to the holidays, each family usually came to Chicago for a week during the summer. Kevin believed that with his kids, his four grandchildren, the bank, and the Cubs, he was living a full life. In fact, he was only one Chicago Cub World Series win away from living a perfect life.

CHAPTER TWO

The first thing the next morning, Kevin met with the bank’s internal auditor.

Good morning Cara. Thanks for meeting me.

Cara smiled. She really didn’t have a choice about meeting him, but she knew he was sincere. He always treated employees like they were doing him a favor.

Kevin said, There’s still a lot of press these days about money laundering. Refresh my memory on how we protect ourselves against it.

A Currency Transaction Report is filled out for every deposit over $10,000. Those are computer matched against wire transfers and if any look suspicious, we investigate, she said.

Have you ever found anything?

No. The wire transfers usually go to investment accounts, company affiliates, payroll accounts, major suppliers etc. So far, we haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.

Do we check all wire transfers above a certain dollar amount? he asked.

They are checked by computer for irregularities or new names. There are many large transfers, but most are from large companies who transfer large amounts on a regular basis. We have dozens of corporate clients in Chicago that send million dollar wires every day. We also have random audit programs, as do the external CPAs, but they are primarily designed to catch errors, not laundering, Cara said.

How would we catch someone who operated just beneath the radar? Kevin asked.

We probably wouldn’t unless we got lucky with one of our random audits.

Do me a favor, said Kevin. For the last quarter, run a computer printout by customer of all deposits between $5,000 and $10,000. Compare those to the customer’s wire transfers.

Cara said, Most of them will be small companies with that amount of revenues.

Right, Kevin said. And most of those will leave their money with the bank and won’t have wire transfers. That will rule out the majority of them.

Is there any special reason that you want this checked? asked Cara. Is there anything suspicious bothering you?

Not really, said Kevin. It’s the old bean counter in me being cautious. Let’s just see what we find.

Will do, she said. I should have something by tomorrow afternoon. Do you need it sooner?

Tomorrow afternoon will be fine. Just call Brenda when you’re ready and she’ll put you on the calendar.

Kevin was looking forward to the meeting with John Andrews and he was very curious to find out what it was about.

However, the surreptitious arrangements Andrews had made for the meeting and the urgency he had conveyed to Brenda caused Kevin to think it was something much more than exploring banking opportunities. Andrews had rented a suite at the Ritz-Carlton, and given Kevin the suite number so he would not have to stop at the desk. Lunch would be catered. He asked Kevin not to mention the meeting to anyone.

When he was entertaining the bank’s customers, Kevin generally ate in one of the bank’s private dining rooms on the top floor. If he wasn’t with customers, he often went to the bank cafeteria and sat at the first table he came to, joining whichever employees were there. Every once in a while, he stole across the street and grabbed a piece of pizza.

He pulled up in front of the Pearson Street entrance and gave the valet his keys. A waiter opened the door to the suite and let him in. Andrews was seated in an easy chair looking over a few pages of typed notes. He stopped when he saw Kevin and got up to shake his hand. The waiter took their drink orders and